Lady Roxanne
by Rosie eisoR
Summary: So, Gary kisses a girl for ten gold nobles. That's not so bad, right? Until you meet the girl.
1. you must remember this

This is the Roxanne referred to in SOTL, although I have taken enormous liberties with her background, personality and appearance. I invented the Cythera connection. If you recognise it, that's because I've been posting it on the Dove.

When she had been told she was to go to Corus, Roxanne had allowed herself to be caught up in her younger sister's dreams of the capital. Cythera had described tale after tale of handsome knights bowing and asking if she'd walk with them, dance with them, marry them… But that was Cythera all over, really; sweetly naïve and reluctant to face up to the harsh realities of life. Roxanne had tried her best, but always seemed to reduce her sister to tears rather than achieving the intended effect of saving her from her fantasies. So, instead, Roxanne had tried to see it from her sister's perspective; the elegantly swirling dresses, the fluttering fans, the flirting. She had succeeded – perhaps a little too well – and had been in for a shattering disappointment.

The Prince was shorter than her.

Oh, she'd known he was slightly younger, and had been informed by her mother that he would probably still need to grow into his looks, but she hadn't known how many inches he'd require. Really. He was also a little too plump – perhaps he wasn't getting enough exercise on the practice yards? she wondered. Perhaps the rest of the boys were too shy to beat their soon-to-be King. It couldn't be very far away, the day Jonathan took over, seeing as King Roald looked as if he'd lain in his grave for three months already.

Cythera had prepared Roxanne for the possibility of her not liking the Prince (the possibility of him not liking her being an unspeakable one, of course). In that instance, she was to choose one of his high-profile friends.

Not likely.

One of them looked as though he'd be better suited to a career as a lumberjack than a knight, and she was sure that red on his cheeks was down to ladies' rouge. He also appeared incapable of normal speech, or even finishing a sentence in Roxanne's presence (though this may be down to a few scathing remarks from the latter).

Another friend didn't even attend balls, but he had the appearance and mannerisms of a five-year-old. A very temperamental, short five-year-old, that was. Roxanne hadn't cared to introduce herself, but he seemed to be a little known country noble. Perhaps he had some hidden talent, or did the Prince's homework for him, or something.

All in all, Gareth of Naxen was the only one whose acquaintance was really worth making, and that was only because his father was brother to the Queen, and a great diplomat. And Prime Minister. And King's Champion. And training master. Roxanne did wonder where he got the time to fit all these positions in, especially given the pathetic speed with which he walked, but nevertheless, his progeny was likely to be admirable too.

Roxanne told her sister as much in her letters. Letters, as she saw it, didn't need to stay close to truth. Besides, if she told the truth, her family would know that no man dared come near her, lest she unleash her tongue. So Cythera read enviously of Roxanne's daring escapades, of stolen kisses, of lingering glances and of evenings spent doing nothing but flirting. For Gareth the Younger was quite infatuated with her sister, if, that is, Cythera believed the letters. Which she did, in wide-eyed, innocent idolatry of her eldest sibling.

In truth, Roxanne was almost coming to believe them. It served to pass the time between sleeping and balls. She was alone for both activities, no matter what her family were led to believe.

Had Gareth realised what Roxanne was saying about him, he might have felt some semblance of sympathy for her. As it was, he misconstrued the flitting glances and the chance meetings as Roxanne's attempts to find something to criticise. He met sharp retort with sharp retort, the Naxen squire being as infamous for his quick words as Roxanne was becoming.

After one particularly bruising match, Roxanne decided she'd had enough. It was time to break up with Gareth of Naxen.

She put quill to parchment, and began.

_Dearest __Cythera__,_

_I write with the most awful news. Gareth has_

She paused, nib hovering over the page. What could he have done that was so awful even Cythera would insist on their breaking up?

_found__ somebody else. I simply cannot bear to elaborate – the pain is much too fresh. Please accept my apologies for the length of this letter. I assure you another will follow._

She signed it with a flourish. Yes, that would do.


	2. a kiss is still a kiss

"And then," Alex continued, without pause for breath, "she handed them over. Just like that."

All the boys were round-eyed by that point - except, of course, Alan, who was pretending not to look at the abundance of undergarment material. Gary moved closer, holding his hands out for the items. He inspected them, particularly the embroidery in one corner, before draping them over Alex's head and rooting in his pouch.

"I suppose that means I owe you." He counted out several coins into the grinning Alex's hands (the undergarments having been tossed to Alan, who had recoiled in disgust). "Mithros. I need to learn not to bet against such odds again. You'd better give me a chance to win that back, you son of a pig, or Father'll have my head on a platter for having run out of money so quickly."

"I'll explain it to him for you," Jon offered generously with a smirk.

Gary responded with a rude word followed by an equally offensive gesture.

Alex's grin widened. "Come now, it's hardly his fault that you underestimate my extreme attractiveness to the opposite sex." He brushed off Gary's comment about having seen a few desperate looking men hanging around Alex as well. "Tell you what. I'll give you the chance to prove yourself."

Gary considered this. "At what price would that be?"

"Eight gold nobles." 

Gary sat back down, looking thoughtful. Eight gold nobles were four off what he'd just paid Alex, but still a sizeable amount. Enough so that his father wouldn't protest so much at the sudden disappearance of all his money. Frankly, he was lucky to get even that, considering what Alex was like with money. "Go on."

"Eight gold nobles for kissing a woman at the ball tonight."

There was a collective sucking in of breath. This wasn't a simple dare, made all the more fun by trying not to get caught. This had a malicious note to it, intentional or not. Alan glanced up from his careful examination of the ground. "Duke Gareth will kill him for disgracing himself and her."

"Hang Duke Gareth," Alex replied cheerfully. "Careful, Alan, at the number of times you mention the man, people will start having you in bed with him rather than Sir Myles."

Gary was just taking off his shoe to chuck at Alex's head when Alan, cheeks flaming in fury, charged him. The choked words "take that back" were audible in the ensuing scuffle. Gary exchanged a half-amused look with Jon as Alan ended up pinned to the ground.

"Don't try to solve everything with fighting," Alex advised him.

"Don't associate everything with _sex_," Alan spat back.

It was possible that Alex's next retort would have sent the two back to proving a point with fists, had Raoul not chosen that moment to walk in. Alex instinctively released the younger boy, glancing up at the bigger squire, something akin to wariness visible in his face.

"What's going on here then?" Raoul wanted to know, dark eyes expressionless as he looked at the two.

Alan scrambled to his feet and ran out of the room, after pausing to scowl at Alex. The recipient of the scowl simply shrugged. "Oh, you know Alan. He takes offence at somebody inhaling too loudly. We were just sorting out a bet for young Gareth here."

Raoul nodded, his eyes flicking briefly to the door. Gary eyed his large friend intently, but there was no change in his expression. "And?"

"He's going to kiss somebody tonight for eight nobles."

Gary covered his eyes with his hands. The dare couldn't have been better - the idea of getting to kiss somebody of his choosing _and_ getting paid for it was a very attractive one to the young squire - but he was still going to get into trouble. This was Alex's idea of revenge, masked as fun, for having to touch the Lady of Cavall's underthings.

"Oh? Somebody like the Lady Roxanne? If it were me, I'd want more than eight, if I was going to even go anywhere near her."

Gary dropped his hands to shoot Raoul a glare as Alex's eyes gleamed. "Yes. Somebody like her."


	3. a sigh is still a sigh

It wasn't that Lady Roxanne wasn't attractive. Her expressive dark eyes and quick smile would have been enough to have her labelled as a court beauty, had her tongue not been swifter and more expressive. Gary had seen her reduce two admirers to tears because they dared to presume she wished to dance with them. He didn't want to think what response his kissing her – in public, no less – would elicit. Perhaps his father would act more kindly if he heard Roxanne's cutting comments. Most likely not, though.

Gary sighed and tugged his collar straight. He would have to be as flattering as possible and not rise to the bait she laid out. It shouldn't be too hard; she was female, after all. And human, or so he hoped.

He flashed a confident smile at his reflection. "Good evening, dear lady. May I just say that you look stunning tonight? No, really! You're taking my breath right away."

"Oh, it must be my perfume," somebody replied in a high falsetto. "Odour-de-skunk."

Gary turned around to find Jon, grinning wickedly. "I think you'll find the skunk stench is your fault. Have you been rolling around with the servants again?"

Jonathan shrugged off his comment, smirking. "Saying your last words?" he asked cheerfully, shutting the door. "I've been sent to make sure you come. And don't worry, I'll only use force as a last resort."

Gary scoffed at that and returned to the mirror, carefully flattening his hair. "Of course I'm coming. It's going to be easy."

"Are you going to do it?" Jonathan wanted to know, moving back to sit on the bed. Gary met his cousin's eyes in the mirror and nodded. "Good luck. I don't know if _I_'d go through with it, ten nobles or no."

Gary turned around, unable to hide his shock. Although he was a year younger, the Prince had the most admirers out of all of them – and Gary suspected that this would still be true even if Jon had had no royal blood whatsoever. A smile from his younger cousin would fluster girls in such a way that the other young hopefuls could only attempt to equal by appearing naked. "What in the name of Mithros are you talking about? She'd fall straight into your arms."

"Only if I drugged her. Our Lady Roxanne isn't one to sheath her tongue for the sake of staying in favour with royalty, mores the pity. She tells me I'm too arrogant, I step too heavily when I'm dancing and I'd do well to practice the art of conversation rather than relying on my ancestry to form people's impressions for me."

Gary rubbed his eyes. "Goddess. She's going to slaughter me. Father'll be lucky if he gets near me before the massacre starts."

"Don't worry. I'll be sure to bury those precious nobles from Alex with you."

"That's not comforting," Gary growled. He checked his reflection in the mirror one last time – not for vanity purposes, you understand, for protection. He didn't want so much as a hair out of place. There was no point in giving her ammunition. "Fine. I'm ready."

--

"Squire Gareth, as I have already informed you, I am not in the mood for your petty minded jests. I would be very much obliged if you would find somebody else's mind to dull with your _trivial_ taunts."

Well.

Gary spread his hands, the picture of good-will. "My lady, you can hardly doubt that we have evidently gotten off on the wrong foot, with this conversation as well as all others. Will you blame me for attempting to rectify my erroneous behaviour?"

The look in her eyes told him she would. She drew herself up, although this made very little difference; he was still at least half a foot taller than she. "I would not blame you, Squire Gareth, but I would have been more accepting of an apology than a sharing of your guilt and a promise to start afresh. Will _you_ blame _me _for having a long memory?"

He itched to reply yes, yes, he would blame her; he would love to blame her for everything, from Carthaki droughts to Scanran accents. But there was the bet to think of. He couldn't stand to lose a bet, and have Alex win in the process. "I could never hold such a lady as yourself to account for anything of the sort. Your memory is an asset to you, and truly one that makes you so unforgettable to others," Gary answered smoothly, mentally praising his father for teaching him diplomacy.

Her mouth twitched slightly. "You have a clever manner of speaking, Squire, I'll give you that. Perhaps another time, you might do a better job of flattering me and showering me with compliments than that slickly concealed gibe." Roxanne moved a hand up to brush away curls which had fallen in front of her face, a moment before he thought he could instruct his hand to do the same without shuddering. "I tire of this, I would say it was a pleasure talking to you, Squire Gareth, but then, it never is. Good evening to you." She dropped him a curtsy, and waited for him to bow in return.

Gary had to force himself to remain upright. He felt incredibly tempted to bow and be done with the conversation, when he met Alex's eyes across the room. No. No giving in, he would do this. He would do this to wipe the smirk off Tirragen's face. "My lady-" He stopped, wondering what he could say that would persuade her to stay by his side. First, he had to forcibly unclench his fists, which had balled as soon as the suggestion had come into his mind. "Please could you – ah, that is, would you do me the extreme pleasure of favouring me with a dance?"


	4. as time goes by

Roxanne regarded him carefully, unable to discern from his blank expression and neutral tone whether he was mocking her or not. "I suppose that depends."

"On what, my lady?"

She met his eyes evenly, ready for the slightest flicker to betray a lie. "On your reasons for asking, of course, Squire Gareth."

"Oh, well, I believe those are simply that I wish to dance, and I also wish to make amends with you. Are those suitable, or would you prefer a longer list?"

She raised an eyebrow. "You're making fun of me, Squire Gareth. It is not appreciated." She idly twirled a loose piece of hair, considering the merits and motives of his reasons. "I suppose I would feel obligated to point out the, ah, overly _eager_ ladies glued to the edge of the room for your first point, and as to your second, it makes me wonder what our conversation thus far has been doing. How many amends do you wish to make?"

"However many my lady deems necessary," Gareth replied promptly, smoothly.

Too smoothly. Roxanne narrowed her eyes at him. Just yesterday, he had been as scathing as ever, and now there was all this talk of leaving the past behind. This wasn't right. "And is dancing a quick way of making amends?"

She could almost hear Cythera wailing in her ears. Here was a young squire, who was very handsome, good conversation and of a ducal house, and he was practically on his knees, begging her to dance with him, and she was trying to get him to retract his offer.

He was smiling, though. "Dancing is a preferable way, Lady Roxanne," he corrected her.

Surely it would be rude to say no, especially when he was looking so desperate. It couldn't really do any harm...

"Then I don't believe I can refuse."

Gareth offered her his arm, his eyes temporarily filled with some emotion she couldn't fit a name to, although it looked suspiciously like - well, like triumph. She eyed him carefully, not liking it, whatever 'it' was.

He was a good dancer - too much practice, probably - and didn't get _too_ offended when she informed him he moved too quickly and had made them out of step with everybody else. Instead, he immediately slowed down to an unbearable pace, and so she 'accidentally' stepped onto his foot - his fault, she told him, for not moving it out of the way fast enough.

All in all, it was a satisfactory dance, and Roxanne was almost sorry to see it end. She had been relishing the jealous looks shot her way by fellow court ladies, and would have suggested another one, only, his foot had slipped and practically crushed hers in the final few steps of the dance, which unfortunately rendered most movement impossible.

"I really am most profusely sorry, my lady," Gareth murmured, taking her arm again. She froze slightly, wanting to tell him it was too familiar, but then decided to allow it, catching Lady Catherine's eyes on her. It was nice to be envied for once, to have something other people wanted for once. "Please, at least let me assist you to the side of the room."

"Yes, I suppose that is the least you could do," she replied, resting her weight on the sore foot. It didn't appear to be broken - probably just bruised.

Somehow, they got safely to the side of the room; she had been leaning on him perhaps a little more than was absolutely necessary. Even then, he showed no signs of leaving - he was obviously still wracked by guilt for crippling her. Maybe she wouldn't tell him it wasn't that bad. She certainly could do with the company.

"Thank you for the dance, though. You're an excellent dancer."

This wasn't exactly scintillating conversation, although she did enjoy being complimented. "I should hope so, my mother paid for the best teachers for me." Then, remembering that young ladies were supposed to be modest, she continued (though not without a hint of reluctance), "My sister's really better." She considered this, then comprimised it by adding, "Only a little bit."

"Oh, you have a sister? What is her name?"

Roxanne could have bitten her tongue. She looked at him warily. "Yes. Cythera. She's young - very young. Immature, you could say. You wouldn't like her. She's terribly quiet and-" She cut herself off, unable to insult her sister, even if it would potentially keep Gareth away from her. She couldn't have the truth about their real relationship coming out, despite how matters in that department appeared to be improving. "She's not like me at all."

There was a long silence. "Still, that's no _real_ reason why I wouldn't get along with her."

Suddenly, he turned towards her, whilst she was trying to work out a suitable reply that would both put him off and enable her to not betray her sister. Did she imagine it, or did his eyes keep dropping to her lips? He seemed uncharacteristically nervous, as though he was going to propose or something. Roxanne prepared herself, just in case.

"You're amazing," he said softly, but with a slight hesitation, as if his feelings were so strong that he couldn't put them into words. "You're beautiful, you're spirited, you're vivacious."

This was it. Roxanne tensed herself, waiting, waiting...

He leaned towards her, and, and - kissed her.

She enjoyed it, for a split second. Then a voice which managed to sound uncomfortably like her mother started claiming he was taking advantages, and how he'd assume she was some sort of a flower girl, and how dare he expect her to just melt into his arms! He should have asked first!

She shoved him away. He got to his feet with something like a shrug.

No apology, mind.

So, really, Roxanne did the only thing possible. She threw a fist to his face. Granted, she had to climb on top of the chair she had been sitting on to do it, and knocked her foot in the process, but there was still a very pleasing crunch as her hand connected with his nose, and the effect wasn't ruined.

"Squire Gareth, how _dare_ you make such assumptions of me?" Roxanne demanded haughtily, allowing her voice to carry to the nearby courtiers. "Leave my presence at _once_!"

He obeyed, cheeks darkening with anger, and she watched happily as the spectacle unfolded. Ideally, there would have been a jealous admirer looking to fight in order to protect Roxanne's virtue, but she'd settle for the Prime Minister following his son out of the room, anger crackling through his face. Roxanne was confident that any punishment the Duke could think up would be infinitely more fitting than the incoherant ramblings of an enraged lover, if not as satisfying in the short-term. She watched as the Prince ran out after, with his lumberjack friend close behind. The room then filled with the buzz of chatter as people discussed what had just happened. Roxanne sighed, and clambered down gingerly from her vantage point.

"You - you hurt him!" Lady Alayne of Darroch cried somewhere near Roxanne's left ear - although the crying was expected. Lady Alayne possessed the most shrill voice Roxanne had ever encountered, though she had not taken that news well at all. She was also rather obsessed with Squire Gareth. "He - he might bruise! You might even have _broken_ his nose."

"Really?" Roxanne asked coolly, folding her arms across her chest and turning to enjoy the glances thrown her way, particularly from a dark-haired man she remembered seeing with the Prince at one time. "How tragically unanticipated. If only I'd taken a second to think."


End file.
